


I'd Destroy The Stars For You

by ImperatorSmugleaf



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Marital Conflict, Marital Tension, Mild Sexual Situations (non-explicit), No seriously they're so in love it hurts, Oneshot, Pre-infection, Questions about fate and predestination, Suggestive Dialogue, The Pale King and White Lady love each other very much, The Pale King has anxiety, The Pale King is trying his best okay, The White Lady should be bonked and sent to horny jail, Very sappy and romantic, they're basically morticia and gomez addams except the exact opposite aesthetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27876217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperatorSmugleaf/pseuds/ImperatorSmugleaf
Summary: Two higher beings sit in a garden and look up at the stars while they talk about life. They love each other very much, and nothing will ever change that—not even if the world ended the very next day.
Relationships: The Pale King/White Lady (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	I'd Destroy The Stars For You

“Say that again?”

“If you wanted me to, I mean. I don’t go around annihilating celestial bodies for fun.” Her laugh danced across his shell and pooled in his heart, warming him like a full belly of scotch and cider. The tendrils enveloping him curled tightly as she tightened her embrace for a fleeting moment, squeezing him affectionately. Her dazzling azure eyes were scrunched closed in a decidedly undignified snicker, which was at once disappointing and thrilling. He was sad to be deprived of those pools of blue he so often found himself wandering into and disappearing, but knowing he made her laugh was a sweeter joy, and he found himself brimming with satisfaction.

The outstretched canopy of glimmering lights that twinkled far above them weren’t stars to begin with. The twisting vines of Greenpath were host to many light-making organisms. If he squinted and wracked his brain to remember the types, he could have pointed them out to her by the frequency of their blinks and the nigh-indiscernible differences in luminosity and hue. The predator in him drank in the lights, desiring to lurch up and catch one in his mouth and devour it. That would definitely be embarrassing. His lady would find it amusing at best. Perhaps he could garner another laugh? That might be worth debasing himself.

“I think it’s a bit silly of you to say that, dearheart,” she purred, leaning down to nuzzle him. He squirmed in her grip, but she had coiled around him like a constrictor snake; he was thoroughly trapped, and he reveled in it. She wouldn’t release him even if he asked. A tiny filament tickled his cheek, her approximation of cupping his face.

“It was a metaphor, my love,” he protested, leaning back further into her to escape her tender affections, which was probably her plan all along. Accordingly, several more tendrils wrapped around him, cocooning him like a spider’s prey. Several thoughts occurred to him involving the procedure of a spider draining its victim of vital fluids, and he bit back his tongue to avoid voicing his love-drunk musings on how that operation might be applied to the intimate hours of the night they shared together. A warbling, playful sound rippled out from her bosom. She had him trapped, and she knew it.

“A metaphor which makes no sense. How could one destroy the stars? They are so very far away. Not even you could accomplish such a feat, my Wyrm.” The wyrm in question huffed in indignance.

“If it was your desire for me to attempt such a daring deed, then by my blood and the soil of my kingdom I would see it done.” She looked down at him, her brow cocked, and a thin smile spreading across her face. Dread and excitement sent tremors through his body, and that teasing filament that was now stroking his neck through his robes was not his ally.

“Ah, so willing you are to toss away that faculty of rationality for a humble Root. Tell me, honey-sweet, if I asked you to throw yourself into Unn’s lake and swallow up a mouthful of acid, and breathe heavily of its caustic fluid, would you do it?”

“Absolutely,” he answered without hesitation, leaning into the game and her breast, taking care that his crown did not pierce or poke her supple flesh. She was warm and soft, and his cheek brushed against the soft fuzz that dusted her skin. She took one of her main grasping tendrils and curled it around his head, pulling him deeper into her. The scent of flowers and honey and all that was beautiful and pleasing about botanic life overwhelmed him, and he nearly lost his composure and begged her to become one with him then and there, but he recovered himself and allowed his Lady to draw him ever closer to her. Her vines now nearly enveloped him; their entrapment was so advanced that they almost drowned out his kinglight.

“And if I requested that you strip naked in front of your advisors and our beloved knights, you would permit me that as well?” She sensed his blush and embarrassment and chuckled, looking down at him with adoration and devotion, the tenderness and abiding love in her gaze enough to melt the stoniest hearts and mend shattered dreams.

“An odd request, beloved, but I would assent,” he said. She laughed in that tittering way she sometimes did and it was like a symphony. His heart shuddered and shivers overcame his form. It was as if he was melting in her grasp, always thinking that at any moment he might turn to liquid and slip out, and every time finding that there was yet more which would lay him low with childish affection.

“Concerning the knights: if one of them had committed an error of the slightest degree in my eyes and I ordered their immediate execution, would you follow through with it?”

“The knights can be replaced,” he said, though she thought she detected a mote of reluctance in his tone.

“If any of them did wrong in your eyes, then it is fully within your rights to see them suffer the due punishment. If you decree that their life is forfeit for any conceivable fault, I have no question they would offer it to you themselves.”

“And if there were no fault to be found, and I nonetheless demanded the ultimate penalty of them?” He paused.

“They believe with every fiber of their small little beings that we are creatures utterly beyond their comprehension. To them, our methods are inscrutable—our desires, hopes, and dreams incomprehensible. They do not question our reasoning, and assume that whatever we say, there must be a grand plan or a masterful weaving together of threads which we are slowly bringing to fruition. If it seemed that their death was a component of that plan, which would doubtlessly be the case in the hypothetical you describe, then my answer would not change.”

“And what of you?”

“Me?” He shifted in her grasp, looking up at her. Blue orbs met black holes.

“Would you begrudge or obstruct me? Would you carry it out yourself? Would you allow it to come to pass?”

“I do not understand. It is within your rights to deal with the Knights how you see fit.”

“They are as much yours as they are mine, my dear.”

“Except Dryya,” he said. His beloved laughed softly, more exhalations of breath than anything.

“Except Dryya,” she agreed, not intending to go along with his clear deflection in the slightest. She wormed a vine underneath his robe, slipping it around his torso and holding him tightly. He squirmed and shivered at the sudden contact, a light gasp escaping his shell. She could tell from the way his breath hitched ever so slightly that she had excited him. That was good. It would make him more pliable, and she was in the mood to pry. Perhaps she’d go along with him… _after_ her questioning was done.

“You didn’t answer my question, o-heart-of-mine,” she purred, inclining her head to whisper in his ear. His breath came hot and heavy. The tip of her vine teasing his neck didn’t help.

“I said, I don’t understand,” he repeated. She laughed lightly, once, still mirthful, but in a different way: like a cat gloating over a victim it knows it has caught.

“Love, we both know you can’t lie worth a damn to me,” she said. Her beloved bit his tongue and sunk into himself, trying his best not to twitch from the caresses of her filaments.

“I would not begrudge or prevent you from carrying out your judgment. I believe I made that clear.”

“So your loyalty to me is unwavering?” He stiffened, and not in the more preferable way. Her smile faltered.

“Darling, do you doubt me?” His tone was soft, and no longer playfully so. The words he spoke were quiet, like a child reprimanded for a misstep they knew was wrong. His light dimmed, fading from a brilliant pale to a dimmer, greyer hue. She could feel it—the trembling in his heart—carried to her through the bond they shared: the soul they’d split between the two of them. She had hurt him. He’d always had anxiety issues, and overthinking was one of his primary pastimes. Her questioning was seen as an interrogation, and he the unlucky accused.

“No, no,” she cooed, pressing her head to his. “I meant nothing of the sort by that. Forgive me. I know you would never engage in any wanton dalliances.” His shell was cold and hard, at least compared to the warm, supple flesh she possessed. After a moment he raised up his hand and cupped her cheek, stroking it softly.

“You were, are, and remain my one and only. Were I ever to desert you, I may as well throw myself into the sun, or fall on my own sword. For the oblivion of my bodily death would be preferable to the thousand deaths my heart would suffer every day separated from you. You are everything to me, and without you my life would have no purpose. I would wander aimlessly as a shadow of myself until the shadows themselves took me. I would live a thousand lives in the span of a day pining for your embrace, and each night would be an age of the Earth as I remembered our every moment together.” She rocked him gently as he poured out his love for her, devoid of pretense or performance. His voice had dropped to a near whisper as he gave voice to the silent movements of his heart. She let him speak; it would be wrong to interrupt. When at last he grew silent, she gingerly spun him around, as if he were a priceless work of porcelain, and pressed a kiss to his shell. She saw his eyes were wet when she pulled away, silvery tears dripping down his cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her brow knit in worry.

“I just love you so much,” he whimpered.

“My Wyrm, have you been drinking?” She hoisted him up so he was level with her face, inspecting him for any sign of intoxication. She found none, and he shook his head the best he could with her fussing over him.

“No, I haven’t.” His voice cracked as he finished his sentence. She didn’t stop her fretting.

“Are you ill?” She pressed a vine to his shell, checking for a temperature. Did he even get fevers? His glow was untarnished.

“No—honeysuckle, look at me. I am fine. Do not hassle yourself over me. It’s okay.” He held took two of her larger tendrils in his hands and squeezed them firmly. She stared back into his wide black eyes and found no trace of deception in them. He was being earnest.

“Then why do you weep? This is unlike you, my dear.” He let his head fall.

“I am not quite sure myself. I simply found myself overwhelmed with love for you at that moment. Perhaps it is prophetic?” Ah, there he went about his foresight again. Goodness. She could never escape it. His hand swung up to his chin and he rubbed it, deep in thought. Being pensive and withdrawn was _also_ another one of his favored hobbies. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. No, this was definitely her Wyrm. 

“Perhaps—”

“Wyrm,” she interrupted. He blinked, snapping out of his contemplation. His head tilted back to look back up at her, their eyes locking together once again.

“What is it, dear?”

“If you love me so, why will you not sire me a child?” Something shattered then. The blissful reverie of their euphoric embrace was lost. Like a falling star the two lovers fell, crashing to the Earth in all of its weeds and dirt, thrust without warning back into the mess of reality. The high faded; the tethers of troubles they’d slipped found purchase once more. The warm glow of affection deserted them. Now they were stranded in a desert of the mind—ironic, seeing as they were situated in a picture of abundance. (The Queen’s Gardens were blooming with life at every turn, their growth far outstripping the dreams of Unn). 

Beset by sudden loss, the Root’s beloved scrambled, parched and confused in the sandy dunes of uncertainty. The filaments in which she had encased him felt his heart rate quicken, and the shock of her sudden question was clearly evident on his face. He paused, dumbstruck, while her eyes never left his, waiting for an answer. Her gaze, suddenly much colder, and with veiled accusation hiding behind it, pierced him through, and he found he could not abide it. He turned away from her, casting his eyes towards some unremarkable piece of ground just past her in his vision.

Her grasp did not tighten on him, but it did not relax either. Their embrace, once loving, scintillating, intoxicating, was now a prison for him. He called himself a fool for believing he could have escaped her inquiries for a time. She knew when he was most vulnerable and how to bring him there. She knew he couldn’t resist her. Was this her plan all along? For a moment, he mourned. With but a word, their sweetened whispers and caresses were soured for him. Suspicion dashed the pleasantness of the memory on the rocks of perceived betrayal.

It was saddening to him, but also shocking and terrifying, all at once. Suffice it to say, the abrupt change in tone thoroughly discombobulated him.

“I—what?” He stammered.

“You say you would do anything for me, yet you withhold the most precious gift you have to offer, one which would be so easy to give. I do not doubt your love is absolute; why do you deny its fulfillment? For countless ages I’ve stood by your side, and I will remain with you until the sun swallows us up and the earth falls into the sea and we are reduced to maggot food. Together we have achieved our deepest desires and drank thoroughly of each other’s love. But I am lonely, my darling. I long for a child, a precious thing to cherish and adore and spoil and cradle. I cannot fight who I am, my Wyrm.” Her many filaments and grasping vines tightened now against her lover, giving him cause to mildly panic.

“I want you to _fuck_ me and sow me with the seeds of our union,” she murmured. He recoiled from her crassness, his kinglight flaring up in a heavy blush. “I will bear the children; I will suffer all the indignities of producing our posterity; you shall not sacrifice a chip off your shell if you do not wish it, save for what is needed to create our progeny. If it were up to me, I would fill the whole of Hallownest with our children, but I know that would be contrary to your wishes. Therefore, a single child is all I ask, and I shall be content and never again trouble your ear or fall upon you with pleas and petitions of this kind. Please, my love—just one.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, almost begging.

He fell silent, his glow dimming. He could not meet her eyes.

“Why do you ask this now?” He murmured, his susurration just above a whisper. The pain was evident in his voice, but she steeled herself and beat back the urge to comfort him. Despite that, a lone filament wormed its way up to soothingly stroke the back of his head.

“In this moment our hearts met one another. It would be dishonest of me to conceal the burning desires I ardently hold. We both agreed to not keep secrets from one another,” she said, pointedly adding the last sentence. It applied more to him than to her. For another time he was silent, and she knew he was contemplating his answer. At last, he spoke.

“My Root, my dearest, my answer remains unchanged,” he hissed, the words laced with sorrow and blood. His lover’s body trembled, like a great tree shaking off its leaves in autumn, and a rumble of anguish escaped her form.

“It is not for lack of want that I refuse your request. I too sorely wish for…” his voice trailed off, his face contorting in grief as the thought passed through his mind.

“I would give all that you ask and more, were I not prohibited by fate.” His foresight told him. Of course it did. It _always_ did. He had made the same excuse before. She was tired of it. Her eyelids drooped as she looked down at him, more out of exhaustion than anger. However, she had intended to get answers, and she would not give up.

“All too often you cite your foresight as the reasoning behind your actions, yet you have never intimated to me what it is you see that is so abhorrent you would deprive us of the greatest joy we might experience.” His breath shuddered as he cast his gaze downwards, dimming himself further. Then, he curled inwards, his glow pulsing. She had seen this before: he was looking ahead, in some capacity. His glow stabilized and he leaned into her, and she warmly received him, though she was surprised. His face pressed into her breast and his cool breath gusted over her skin.

“It _hurts,_ dearlove. I am not inattentive to your wishes. It rends my heart to cause you grief. Please understand that.” He pawed at her skin, finally tilting his head back to meet her smooth, gemlike eyes.

“I look ahead to our children and I see _tragedy._ I feel the weight of a thousand worlds pressing down on my shoulders. I sense fear and dread, and taste the ash of death in my mouth. Corruption. Hatred. A sickly-sweet scent, seductive and malign, mixed with the stench of rot and decay. Death. Cold. It’s always _cold._ My shell aches and my eyes burn. Exhaustion suffuses the core of my being.” She watched him shrink in on himself, and for a moment he looked old and frail, the ages finally catching up with him. The veil was pulled back, revealing the ancientness of his soul, and how decrepit he truly was. He looked like he might shatter into a million pieces if one only breathed on him. In that moment, her heart was moved with pity, and a chill swept through her body.

“Most of all,” he continued, “I feel _regret._ Green and festering regret. All-consuming. It makes me want to claw my eyes out and rip my shell apart by my crown. I must fight the urge to tear my robes and beat my chest and scream and roll around on the round like a beast. It breaks upon me like a tidal wave, and I am powerless to resist. It lodges itself in the pit of my stomach and feels like it might burst forth at any point, exploding from my limbs and splitting my body apart at the seams. It pounds in my head and colors all that I do. My loves crumble to dust before it. Life loses all meaning and felicity. I become as a specter, a revenant, dead to myself, animated only by that endless _regret._ ”

Silvery tears again began to flow from his eyes, and she quickly bent down and kissed him, wiping the liquid from his face. He pulled away from her, and grasped her head firmly in his hands. A mad look appeared in his eyes, the black pits conveying much more emotion than they should have—more than they might ever again.

“Do you understand, heart of my heart? I can’t. I _can’t,_ ” he choked. She held him close, not speaking, but smothering him in her warmth. The bond of the Kingsoul, the charm they shared, quivered. The thread connecting them was pulled taut. She could feel every inch of his despair and anguish as they beat him down into the dirt. She refused to let it consume him.

“I am yours forever,” she whispered, peppering his shell with kisses. “I will never desert you. Whatever storms may blow in on fate’s mighty wings, I shall weather them with you, and we will endure. Do not fear; do not despair. I am here, as I always have been, and always shall remain. I love you. _I love you._ ”

Gradually, his sobs subsided, and his breath evened out. He did not pull away from her, but did turn his head so his voice would not be muffled from speaking into her bosom.

“You may come forward, Dryya,” he said. Ah, so he had felt the knight’s presence as well? She shuffled around so that they both could view the Great Knight stepping out of the shadows. The warrior’s eyes were turned away, and her hand veiled her face. The Root’s lover tilted his head.

“You need not avert your gaze from us, Dryya. We are not ashamed that you might see us in such a manner.”

“Yes,” added the Wyrm’s beloved. “We have nothing to hide. Not from you.”

“It is not from shame that I veil my eyes, your majesties; my liege’s glow is blinding, and I fear I may lose my vision should I gaze upon him with my naked sight.” The Root giggled, and her dear husband felt quite foolish.

“Ah—my apologies, Dryya. I hadn’t realized I was glowing so brightly.” He dimmed his glow to accommodate the knight, and she removed her hand from her face and snapped to attention to address them.

“Thank you, my liege,” she said, though the Root could see that her knight was still slightly squinting.

“If you’d prefer, Dryya, I could always wrap him up in vines and obscure his glow completely,” she teased. Dryya shook her head, and the Wyrm glanced up to his darling in joking horror.

“That will not be necessary, but thank you for the offer, your majesty.” The Root smiled, pulling her Wyrm closer so that he could recline on her. He did.

“What brings you here to our retreat, Dryya?” The Root’s voice betrayed her carefree state of mind, much in contrast to the iron countenance of Dryya.

“I come bearing grim tidings. We have reports of a wasting sickness affecting numerous citizens in the outlying regions of the Kingdom. Information is sparse, but it appears to be highly contagious. Individuals within infected households succumb to the sickness within days or hours of each other. Symptoms of the disease at its onset include lethargy, a high fever, restless sleep, and exhaustion. The next stage of infection takes place over the course of several hours or days: the individual becomes confused and disoriented, and begins to secrete a sticky orange mucous. Their eyes darken, only to be later filled with the same orange substance. Soon after, the infected individual falls into a deep coma, and does not rouse. All methods of treatment—bleeding, medicines, and other common remedies have thus far failed. The outlying settlements cry for guidance, my liege.”

As Dryya spoke, his glow began to once again pick up, and the Root used her vines to shield him from Dryya, sparing the knight the worst of the glow. Concerned, she reached out to him through their bond, testing his emotions. A deep shiver overcame her and she recoiled, mentally and physically. It was like being plunged into an ocean of ice, or swept over by a firestorm.

_Fear._ It was beyond anything she had ever felt from her beloved. This was no fright at a sudden noise nor a child’s fear of the dark. This was  _dread._ This was  _terror._ Something in Dryya’s words menaced him to his core, and that was enough to instill great alarm in the Root.

“My love? What is wrong?” His glow snapped back to a brightness that wouldn’t blind Dryya and he quickly disentangled himself from his lover.

“I will attend to this immediately. Escort my wife back to the palace,” the Pale King commanded in a deep strong voice. His tone left no room for argument, and he quickly shuffled away, Dryya saluting him as he walked past.

“As you command, my liege,” said the knight. The Root watched him go, her brow knit and an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her body missed the weight of the Wyrm, and it took a moment for her to adjust to the lack of his presence tied up in hers. Dryya approached her Queen and snapped to attention.

“Let us go, my Lady,” she said. The White Lady looked from Dryya to the shrinking sight of her partner, his glow dwindling to a small dot in the distance. She sighed deeply, pushing herself to a standing position.

“Of course, Dryya. Thank you,” she muttered, her mind elsewhere. Dryya looked up at her curiously, but then her knightly demeanor returned and she spun on her heel to face another passageway which led towards the nearest stag station.

“This way, my Lady,” she said, marching forward resolutely. Numbly, the White Lady followed, sparing a last glance towards where she last saw her husband. She was worried about him. The fear she’d felt… What had been its cause?

The world darkened around her and she mutely trailed behind Dryya. A deep foreboding overcame her mind, and she drooped down, her eyes fixed on the ground, but not focused on it. Lost in her own mind, the White Lady continued on.

Something horrible was about to happen, and they were standing on the precipice. She didn’t know why she felt this way, only that she did. 

_My love… Stay safe,_ she thought to herself, hoping her words would reach him.

**Author's Note:**

> *collapses in a heap* college is the WORST.
> 
> This originally started as a vent fic and then I just kinda kept writing and didn't stop until I felt like I could call it finished. Life is hard right now, and by life I mean the egregious amount of work I have to do within the next two weeks. College has been kicking my butt, and I cannot wait for this year to be over. 
> 
> I was planning to get another chapter of Monarchy out before all of this stress and work happened, but that didn't happen. With luck and elbow grease, I'll be posting that within a few weeks of the semester's termination. In the meantime, I hope this fic finds you all well. If you enjoyed it, please let me know!
> 
> And since it's December, happy holidays to you! I wish you a restful month and a joyful holiday season. This year has been absolutely shit, and although the demarcation line of a number ticking over from 20 to 21 doesn't mean much thanks to the continuity of time, it does provide a helpful point for us to reset and redouble our efforts to fix this mess of a situation we find ourselves in. I hope that this fic provides you an escape from whatever less-than-ideal circumstances you may find yourself in. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading.


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